


monday; au

by fightingtheblankpage



Series: Allydia Week [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 18:50:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightingtheblankpage/pseuds/fightingtheblankpage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>witch!au</p>
            </blockquote>





	monday; au

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a part of the Allydia Week challenge.

There are certain rules, old and well-used, that you just obey. Everybody knows them: you don’t drink water from the well that  the cat fell into, and drowned. You don’t leave the door open when a woman is giving birth, because you may let the bad luck in. You always listen to the oldest person in the village, because they know the most.

You never go near the old cottage in the forest.

There are no berries there to collect, Allison’s mother tells her, and no animals for the men to hunt, and no living thing inhabits that part of the woods, except for those that are corrupted. Only lizards live there, and snakes, and spiders, and the trees are sickly and twisted.

The worst of all those dark creatures is the witch who lives in the cottage. She’s been there when Allison’s grandfather was still young, they say, and she never leaves the forest. Very few have seen her, and the accounts differ in everything. She’s what you tell children about, so they are scared – and scared children are good, obedient children, everybody knows that.

Allison is very scared, and so she never goes near the cottage.

You never go near the old cottage in the forest, unless you have no choice. There are things worse than death, Allison’s father has told her, and one of them is to cross the witch. But then there are things worse than to cross the witch, Allison herself believes, and one of them is to let down a friend who is in need.

This is why Allison steals a knife from her father, and hides it in the folds of her dress. She tells her mother she’s going to the forest, to collect berries, and her mother doesn’t even warn her about not going near the cottage – everybody knows not to do this, after all.

Allison wanders around the woods for a little bit, just in case, but eventually she has to face her task. She squares her shoulders, and grips the basket her mother has given her for the berries that bit harder.

The cottage isn’t so far, contrary to what one may think. Getting to it takes some tearing through the undergrowth, but not as much as Allison has expected. It’s almost like someone took this very path before her, and not so long ago, too.

When Allison finally emerges in the small clearing, she’s breathless and her arms are covered in scratches. The skirt of her dress is torn from where it caught on a branch, and Allison knows she will have a hard time explaining this to her mother.

The cottage itself isn’t as much of a ruin as Allison has expected it to be. It doesn’t look like the powers of nature are trying to destroy it – they are just claiming it, with the way that tree-branches form the roof, and wild vines mend the cracked walls. Allison takes a deep breath, and with her heart fluttering in her chest like a sparrow, she knocks on the door, thrice.

If the cottage hasn’t surprised Allison, the witch herself is bound to.

She looks less like a disfigured monster and more like the girls from the village, if far more beautiful. Allison is sure that this must be the first sign of the witch’s magic: the soft curl of her red hair, the tint of her green eyes, the way her skin doesn’t carry the same sun-tinged quality that all of the village girls possess. Like she hasn’t worked a day in her life.

“Hello,” the witch says, when it’s clear that Allison can’t find her voice. The witch sounds equal parts amused, exasperated and predatorily curious. “Are you lost, girl?”

“No,” Allison blurts out quickly. “No. I‒ I came to ask for your help. You’re Lydia, the witch, aren’t you?” she asks, just to make sure.

“I am Lydia,” Lydia says. She backs away into the cottage, and Allison follows her. It’s against her every instinct, but she follows her into the dark inside, streaked with rays of sunlight tearing through the cracks and holes in the walls and in the roof. “ And you are Allison, the huntsman’s daughter. Oh, do not look surprised. I know things, you may say it is my obligation to know things. But I do not deal in requests.”

“Oh,” Allison says. “But it’s really important. Please, you have to help me, it’s‒”

“But I do not. I do not have to do anything, Allison. It is girls like you who do. I do not deal in requests, but I can make a deal with you.”

“A deal?” Allison echoes. “You see, it’s about Jackson. We think he’s been cursed, he– Can you help him? If I don’t find a way to cure him, my father and the other men will hunt him down. I overheard them talking.”

Something like malice bleeds into Lydia’s smile as she swings the doors of a rickety cabinet open. She starts rummaging through it, her hands touching and pushing different boxes, vials and bottles around. “I know Jackson. As the matter of fact, I was the one to curse him. He came here a few times. He thought he can woo the witch.” She shakes her head, probably more to send her locks cascading down her back than anything else. “Stupid boy, truly. He wanted to break my heart, so this is my price, Allison. I want a heart for helping the heartless boy.”

Lydia turns to look at Allison. She’s holding an empty glass jar, dirty and cracked. Allison’s eyes stray to it and her heart speeds up again. “My heart? Do you want _my_ heart?” she asks.

“Do you have any other one to offer?” Lydia asks back. She taps her fingers against the jar in contemplation, and then something like realisation wipes the smile off of her face. “I do not mean _in the jar_ , you silly girl! The jar is for the spell.”

She rolls her eyes in an exaggerated fashion, and Allison waits until Lydia turns back to the cabinet before she sighs in relief. Lydia goes back to her tinkering, stuffing this and that in the jar with practiced, sure movements. “I don’t understand,” Allison admits.

“I am not surprised,” Lydia hums in agreement. She shakes the jar a little, quirks an eyebrow at it, and practically pushes it into Allison’s hands. “Burn it, and then make the stupid boy eat the ashes. All of them, make sure of that. And then come back here, so I can collect my payment.”

Lydia regards Allison very carefully, and Allison tries not to blush. It doesn’t work, so she at least tries not to trip while at the same time backing away towards the door. Lydia’s fingers brush against the skirt of Allison’s dress, and Allison does trip then, over the cottage’s threshold.

“Remember to come back, Allison,” Lydia tells her with a smile. “Do not make me come looking for you.”

She slams the door in Allison’s face, and Allison stands there for a long while before she finally manages to regain her presence of mind enough to turn around to head back for the village. When she examines her skirt, there is no sign of it ever being torn.

You never go near the old cottage in the forest, because once you do, you won’t be able to stay away.


End file.
